Spirit of the Season
by storylover18
Summary: Written for Prothoe ... John is ill at Christmas. Merry Christmas!


**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.**

**Hello everyone! This is a one-shot written for **_**Prothoe**_**, who is suffering from a slight case of flu this holiday season. So, on top of sending virtual hugs and cookies, I thought maybe a bit of Sherlock sympathy may help. Enjoy! **

"You're still feverish." Sherlock said, coming into the sitting room with a piece of cold pizza, of which he took a large bite.

John glared at him from the sofa.

"Oh come on, John," Sherlock said with his mouth still half full. "It's not hard to see; Flushed cheeks, bright, glassy eyes with bags under them. Clearly you are suffering from a fever."

"What's your point, Sherlock?" John sighed miserably.

"Why don't you just take some paracetamol and go to bed? Honestly, as a doctor, I would assume you know these things."

"Because," John began somewhat indignantly. "First of all, I _have_ been taking paracetamol, for three days now, in fact. Second, I don't feel _that_ awful … much better than yesterday, at least. Third, it's Christmas. I don't want to spend my favourite holiday cooped up in bed."

"So you decided to camp out on the sofa?" Sherlock asked dryly. "I don't celebrate Christmas, John, and with Harry and Mrs. Hudson out of town, where have you got to go?"

"We've already exchanged gifts but we're going to celebrate here."

Sherlock scoffed.

"I'd like to see you try."

John decided then and there to make it his mission to make Sherlock celebrate Christmas, at least in some sort that day, regardless of how he felt. It was just poor luck, coming down with a slight touch of flu so close to Christmas but John wasn't going to let a few aches and pains ruin his favourite holiday of the year.

"Fine." John pushed his aching body off the sofa. If he was going to celebrate Christmas, he was at least going to be dressed.

"I'll be right back. Put on some Christmas music, would you?"

John went upstairs and found a festive sweater and put it on with some trousers, digging out his candy cane socks for the occasion. John finished dressing and went downstairs. Sherlock had moved to the desk, a laptop open in front of him. The flat was silent.

"Do you want to play your violin or shall I put on a record?" John asked.

"Do whatever you want," Sherlock said, not taking his eyes from the screen. John ignored the stubborn response and selected one of his favourite Christmas albums and put it on. The flat was filled with the Carol of the Bells and John smiled; it had always been one of his absolute favourite Christmas songs.

"Do you want anything special for supper?" John asked. He _had_ gone shopping early that week, although being laid up the past couple days, he wasn't entirely sure what Sherlock had used for experiments.

"Nothing in particular."

Well, Sherlock could be a scrooge, John thought, but he was going to make a nice Christmas dinner. He had bought a nice ham, as well as fixings for a vegetable medley, garden salad, and rolls. Put with some mashed potatoes, it would be a feast fit for a king.

John got to work in the kitchen, putting the ham in to bake before setting about creating several delicious looking dishes – although not the applesauce. Sherlock had used the apples for something John probably didn't want to know about. At some point, Sherlock came in to see what he was doing, an amused look on his face.

"Could you set the table?" John said when he came in for the third time.

"What?"

"The table," John said. "Lay it out. Supper will be ready in ten minutes."

Sherlock, surprisingly, pulled out plates and cups, silverware and napkins and cleared the table in the sitting room. He laid everything out and came back.

"What do you want to drink?"

"There's a bottle of red wine in the cupboard," John said.

"You shouldn't be drinking," Sherlock said, finding the bottle. "Not when you're ill."

Despite his words, Sherlock poured John a glass of wine before filling his cup with water. He sat while John did last minute food things and watched John make several trips back and forth to the kitchen, delivering dishes to the table. Finally, John set the ham in the middle of the table and sat, pulling his napkin into his lap.

Sherlock waited patiently to be served, although John merely passed him the fork to spear the ham with after he had given himself a healthy portion. They began eating silently, John enjoying the atmosphere. The music was still playing and the food was delicious. He had been waiting all week for this meal … he just wished he was hungrier.

"I had no idea you could cook so well," Sherlock said mid-bite. "I should let you cook for me more often, since you're always after me to eat more."

In a certain, twisted way, it _was_ a compliment … sort of.

John had managed to eat most of his serving of ham, a few bites of potato, and exactly one piece of broccoli. The rest of the vegetable medley was there, as well as an untouched roll.

Sherlock studied his flatmate. It was so blatantly obvious he was ill and yet he was forcing himself to eat a meal that was probably too heavy on the stomach. His friend was beginning to fade, simply staring longingly at his unfinished meal. Sherlock's eyes flickered from John's face, to his mostly filled plate, and back to John. Sherlock sighed, putting down his fork. Was John really going to make him force him to bed?

Sherlock's hand on his forehead caught John by surprise, although it didn't rest there very long.

"I was right," Sherlock said, picking up his fork again and stabbing a piece of cauliflower.

"About what?"

"You have a fever."

John sighed.

"Go to bed, John. I'll do the washing up tonight."

John's eyes snapped up to Sherlock's face.

"You're serious?"

"Do I look like I'm joking? Go take some more paracetamol and go to bed."

John wasn't about to turn down an offer from Sherlock to do the dishes.

"Thanks, Sherlock." he mumbled, standing up and putting his napkin on the table. "Merry Christmas."

Sherlock didn't respond and John stumbled upstairs, where he changed into his pyjamas again and crawled into bed.

Despite feeling awful, he wasn't tired and John lay in bed for quite some time.

* * *

Downstairs, Sherlock finished his food – he hadn't been joking about John's cooking, either. John really was a fantastic cook – and gathered the dishes. He put leftovers into containers that he was pretty sure were safe and stuck them in the fridge before turning on the hot water and donning a pair of rubber gloves. It didn't take long for the kitchen to be relatively clean considering its pre-meal state, a large stack of pots and pans drip-drying in the sink.

The Christmas music was still playing in the background and Sherlock, feeling a bit sorry for John, put on the kettle. He made a cuppa and found the tin of gingerbread cookies, taking two in a napkin.

Sherlock went upstairs with the snack and entered John's room without knocking.

"Here." Sherlock said, setting the tea and cookies on the nightstand. John pushed himself up in surprise.

"Thank you." he said, taking the tea in his hands. It was warm, and it smelled nice. "But why?"

"It's Christmas."

"So? You said yourself that you don't celebrate Christmas."

"But you do."

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. It was true; he had never understood the importance of Christmas. It was just another day, another ploy by the shops to make extra profit. But John genuinely loved the holiday. He loved the decorations, the kindness of people, he even went to church. The spirit of the season made him happy (sentiment and all that) and it wasn't his fault he had flu. So while he thought bringing a cup of tea to his sick friend was a minimal gesture, Sherlock knew that John would appreciate it.

"I'll be downstairs if you need anything," Sherlock said, leaving the room. "Merry Christmas, John."

**Reviews are always appreciated! Oh, and if you're following **_**Contagion**_**, I'm working on it! Been in a bit of a writing block phase, but I'm hoping it will end soon! **

**I wish all of you the Merriest of Christmases … you have all blessed my life so much in your encouragement and support! I honestly thank God that I've found something that makes me so happy and that I've found great people who share my love of Sherlock, Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, ect. =) **

**Today, in the town of David, a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ, the Lord.**

**Luke 2:11**


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